Sacramento 10th and J Streets

In Sacramento,
Two blocks from the Capitol
Streets once paved by
the discovery of gold
not safe at night.

The streets lead
to suburbs full of
foreclosed homes.
Cars drive past
the historic buildings,
the emporiums
that sold rivets to the railroad
and hardtack and pick axes
to greenhorns headed to the gold fields
Back then Sacramento merchants
knew it was more profitable to mine
the greenhorns than to mine for gold.

Even the city's merchant princes
the Stanfords, Crockers and Huntingtos
all gone now.
In place of the giants of commerce
we now have the pygmies of politics, led by
an ex-Austrian with a steroid
enhanced ego.

Even the pols don't hang around here at night.
The alleys and doorways are filled with
haunted schizophrenics
who panhandle tourists for spare change
to buy Gallo burgundy and Starbucks cappuccinos
all the while ranting about "Godless Whores" and
the "Evil Empire of Pussy."

But this morning on my walk
I saw signs of hope,
like wildflowers blooming
in this landscape of slow decay.
Bureaucrats on bicycles
riding to their cubicles to tend
the workings of this most dysfunctional state.
Planners drawing plans for New Jerusalem
over iced coffees.
Venture capitalists sitting
in a plush hotel lobby practicing
their pitches for state grants
for the next Hewlet Packard.

It is evening rush hour now
and everyone except the homeless
head for home.
As I head for the train station,
I wonder am a leaving
an urban wasteland
or a 21st century frontier.
Standing on the corner of 10th and J Streets
in Sacramento,
I don't really know.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Sacramento 10th and J Streets copyright April 29, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Defenders of the Gunfighter Republic

By their works you shall know them
their Bible says
They are the Defenders of
The Gunfighter Republic
They have no doubt that
Theirs is
The TRUE America

Their heroes are cardboard cutouts
of senile B-Movie cowboys
The Duke, The Gipper,
and of course The Maverick

Their leaders are the
college drop-out pundits
of 24-Hour cable news
The pundits paid
by the Crony Capitalists of
the previous regime

Who Rumplestiltskin-like
spin hate and paraonoia
into Euros and Yen by selling the Defenders
all the guns, gold and Army rations
they can buy.

And buy the Defenders do,
for theirs is no ordinary madness.
Every week they throng in the hundreds
(made legion by Faux News)
With signs and their sacred guns
spewing vicious hate and
believing that their rantings
are a Noble and Masculine spectacle

Showing that they are prepared
for the coming Apocalypse or Armageddon
When God's Elect will be sent
direct to their Disneyland Dream
of Heaven

While the earth below is roiled
by Satan or the Anti-Christ or Barack Hussein Obama
or whoever they happen
to hate at the moment.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Defenders of the Gunfighter Republic copyright April 23, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Myths and their meaning

I imagine myth
as a kernel of truth
embedded in the husk of a fantastic lie
or an irrational fantasy

But myths like seeds can make things grow
consider these myths
"all are created equal,"
"work hard and get ahead,"
and "follow your bliss."

Even though the chances of success
may be razor thin
I have used such myths
in my daily life
through them I gave
performances of meaning
that in individual and small ways
gave a satisfying taste
to daily real life.

I even discovered
that some myths can extend
beyond me, beyond the time
when and where I reach my
personal Day of the Dead.

Sometimes myths can become
lies embedded in the husks of lies
then what is fantastic becomes evil
and that which once revealed inner truths
now is a spur to self-deception.

The fires of my personal hells
were fueled by lying to myself
living a lie
made me prey to a stupidity
that spread itself through the
molecular proteins of my being.
Selfishness, stupidity and self-deception
became the structure around which
I built my life.

I ceased to care for others
ceased asking when? or how? or why?
I no longer had time
for such simple one-word questions

I was one of millions
floating above the ground
like a wind-driven plastic bag
all my actions and interactions
driven by delusion
everything I did or do
takes a life
or turns an oasis into a desert

All the while I continued to make
meaningless sacrifices
to gods now senile
their gold flaked icons
stripped of mystical value
myths had lost their meaning

I caught glimpses of decay
in the corner of my eyes
phantom dogs
feeding on the corpses of
the abandoned and unloved
my fellow beings two-legged simulacra
running bent over like deranged apes
trying to scavenge some type of sustenance
from a moonscape of poverty,
degradation and despair.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Myths and their meaning, copyright April 21, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Wolf in Shepherd's Clothing, While the Carrollers sang Oh Holy Night

Wolf in Shepherd's Clothing

You can strangle
perception by assuming
the manners of
or looking like your enemy

In the world of wealth
without wisdom
it is easy to decieve
and fleece the sheep
who have all the money
Because no one questions
a wolf in Shepherd's clothing

Money the bible says
is the root of all.
If a demon has enough money
he can exploit poverty
to indulge in every vice
every excess of deviance.
Money is the lever that
allows you to create
Create a cult of diabolic power
to turn good people into the servants
of darkness
Money buys freedom to
indulge desires that lurk
always in the dark.

Protected all the while by the
impenetrable shield
of patriarchal authority,
by day you play the saint
by night you pursue all
all manner of erotic violence

Preying on youth
destroying all innocence
There's no limit to what you can do
when you are shielded by the hand
that wear's St. Peter's ring.

While the Carrollers sang Oh Holy Night

Coldest Christmas ever in Des Moines
the parishioners said.
It was cold that Friday night
But the yellow church bus
was happy and warm as it rumbled through
the cold, dark winter's eve.

The carrollers sang "Oh Holy Night"
He sang loudest of all
the lusty angel of the Lord.
No one saw how his right hand
stroked Tommy's upper thigh

Whenever the carrollers paused
to catch their breath
he would whisper in the boy's ear
"Tommy are you safe?"
"Tommy are you warm?"
"Yes, Father," Tommy would whisper.

Ten months ago the whole congregation
marvelled when he 'adopted' the 11-year-old
runaway boy.
Now no one wondered
no one noticed at all.

The Carrollers sang
Oh Come All Ye Faithful
his fingers gently pinched Tommy's thigh
"Tommy, God loves you," he whispered.
"Do you know God loves you Tommy?"

"Yes, Father," Tommy whispered.
Knowing what was coming.
Trying not to cry.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Wolf in Shepherd's Clothing & While the Carrollers sang Oh Holy Night Copyright April 14, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

virtuous shadow warrior

The guardians of Americanity
now float above in the sky
unseen, unheard
hovering at 20,000 feet
on their singing wings
like omnipotent, autistic children
idiot savants
whose talents are hellfire missles
who hasten death
through aggressive harm reduction

Below on the barren ground
of Waziristan and the Swat Valley
in the back alleys of
Karachi and Kandahar
vendetta is visceral
the knife knows not subtleties
amongst the people whose lives
are on the edges of the bomb craters
and the kill-zone
every death is a war crime
every grave a martyr's shrine

After 9 years of conflict
the global clash of cultures
we find that this is best death
our money can buy
But we never see the deaths
or the damage, except as
viral videos on YouTube
Share them with your followers or friends.

Do we still believe
that we are the virtuous shadow warriors?
Does death dealt by men and women
in silhouette in some air-conditioned trailer
enforcing the policy of Peace Americana
help stop end an endless war?
Or do we do it 'cause it's easy,
'cause we can, 'cause it's exciting to dwell
in the virtual space
where war is a video game?
ZAP!

Capitano Tedeschi

30

virtuous shadow warrior copyright April 8, 2010 by Jamie Jacks